


Scrumptious

by goseaward



Category: The Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: David's up to something. Michael wishes he knew what it was so he could decide if it would be good for him or not.
Relationships: Henry Bird/Michael Chakraverty
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Scrumptious

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to shihadchick for the beta/Britpick. Any remaining errors are my own.

David and Henry take so long to come over that Michael almost gives up and puts on his pyjamas. He tells them as much when they finally knock on the door.

David leers at him casually as he walks past. "Shame," he says. Henry trails David, smiling faintly in his usual anxious schoolmaster manner. Michael, also as usual, wants to pin him down and make him squeak. He's pretty sure Henry would like it, too—both in general, and from Michael specifically—but Henry seems disinclined to do anything about it, so Michael will just have to appreciate him from a distance. Not a very far distance; Henry's pretty affectionate. It's not a hardship.

At the hotel room's desk, David produces a number of bottles from a carrier bag along with three plastic cups. Well, that's different. He pulls up the only chair and starts mixing drinks with a heavy hand. That leaves the bed for Michael and Henry. Michael perches on the edge, not sure exactly what kind of evening this is going to be; they've developed something of a tradition of Saturday-night hangouts in the hotel, but it's not usually a booze-up. Henry, when he joins him, immediately crosses his legs and wraps his arms around himself, fidgeting with the hem of his collared shirt, which for some reason he is _still wearing_ though they finished filming hours ago. Even odds whether he's nervous because he doesn't know what David's planned or because he does.

David turns and hands a plastic cup to each of them.

"Classy," Michael says.

"You'd think Channel 4 could spring for a hotel with a full range of bar glassware, wouldn't you," David says. "Drink up. Relax. This meeting of the Least Laddy Lad's Club is fully in session." He leans back and smiles at both of them.

Michael dutifully takes a sip and nearly coughs. "Well, that's strong enough to take my mind off that technical. Thanks!" He takes another drink before he loses his nerve. It's not his usual choice, but it seems rude to refuse. Beside him, he thinks Henry might wet his lips, but he's not drinking as deeply as Michael. Nor is David, who Michael notices hasn't even raised his cup.

"Are you still feeling bad about that? You're a fantastic baker, I'm sure you'll make it up tomorrow," Henry says loyally.

"I came below both of you," David says. "No thoughts for my tender feelings?"

Michael grins. "You didn't seem that bothered, if I'm honest."

David laughs and Henry smiles into the rim of his cup. David says, "Oh, I wasn't really." He has an admirable amount of balance, Michael's always thought. He cares about doing well, but not so much that it makes him freeze and fail the way Michael does sometimes.

"Can I borrow some of your, um, calmness?" Henry asks, echoing Michael's thoughts.

"Ah, it comes with age, young man," David says. Michael nods sagely for effect and Henry rolls his eyes at both of them.

"Oi, what a way to treat the wisdom of your elders!" Michael says.

David leans forward. "We know lots of things," he says. "For instance, Michael here knows all about pastry. He told me how to make a choux last week—"

"For all the good it did me today!" Michael interrupts.

"—and I could give you lots of blowjob tips."

Henry turns bright red almost instantly, and Michael glances at David, not sure where this is going and whether Henry will be okay with it. He always seems so proper. "I don't need tips, thank you," Henry says finally. He sounds more outraged than embarrassed, and Michael relaxes.

"On the contrary, you should really _focus_ on the tip," David says.

Henry, thankfully, snorts. Michael whacks David casually on the knee. "We are contestants on a _family-friendly show,_, you know. What would Prue say."

"She could probably give us _all_ lessons," David says. "And didn't you see the one with the squirrel bollocks front and center? Family-friendly show my arse!"

"I don't want to think about squirrel bollocks!" 

"Oh, all right," David says, smiling faintly. "What _do_ you want to talk about?"

He's up to something. Michael wishes he knew what it was so he could decide if it would be good for him or not. For now he settles on something innocuous—what was David thinking, honestly. "What are you making tomorrow?"

"Amaretto sour cake," David says. "This is everything that's left over from my test baking." He gestures vaguely to the bottles on the desk. "I figured I'd find a use for it if I brought it along."

"Coffee cocktail," Henry volunteers. 

"Mm, an upper and a downer, very nice," David says, nodding.

Henry turns to say, "What about you, Michael?" It's maybe the first time he's looked Michael full in the face this evening. Which, now that Michael thinks about it, is a little strange. Maybe he _is_ in on whatever David is up to.

"Blackberry bramble."

"Interesting," Henry says. "What's in that?"

"Gin and lemon. And blackberries, obviously."

"Sounds nice." Henry's smile is really...very good.

When Michael looks back at David, after a rather longer moment of staring at Henry's mouth than he probably should be doing at all but especially in company, David has a very sphinxlike expression on his face. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?" Michael says.

"Fully expecting to win, obviously." David gestures with his cup again. It still looks full to Michael. "Not that I can compete with you two magnificent men."

"Oh please," Henry says, "if any of us is going to win it's obviously you." He still has that edge of nervousness to him, although he's sitting in a much more relaxed way than how he'd started out. He is, unfortunately, still very appealing, in that hot and nervous and untouchable kind of way.

"I think you're both brilliant." Michael takes another gulp of his drink, enough to finish it, and leans forward to set the empty cup on the desk before David can fill it up again. 

"Isn't this a cozy little lovefest?" David says.

Henry, unaccountably, turns pink again.

"We all need to make it to the final. Least Laddy Lad's Club, top three." Michael bumps his shoulder against Henry's, and Henry looks surprised and then smiles.

"There's a Pride celebration for you!" David says, and Michael and Henry both laugh. "And I guess that's as good a transition as I'm going to get, since Michael's convinced we should keep this kid-friendly. I'm actually here on a mission of mercy."

Michael looks at Henry, who has shaded from delicate pink back to bright red again, and then at David. "A mission of—?"

"Mercy," David repeats. "You're absolutely killing me and Alice. And probably everybody else, but especially us. Could you just"—he waves his hands—"fuck already?" 

Next to Michael, Henry chokes on nothing. At least they're a matching bright red now. "Um—"

"Look, your interest in each other is mutual and blindingly bloody obvious. So just fuck. Please." David stands up and heads for the door. "I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

"Um," Michael says. Fruitlessly, since David's out of the room before he can say anything else. The slam of the door is quite final, and Michael turns to look at Henry again.

"It's not— You don't have to," Henry says, looking at his hands. "I mean, obviously you don't have to, he's not _that_ commanding." He glances up at Michael, mouth twisted to the side in a half-smile, then back down.

"I think he is, actually," Michael says. "I mean, if anyone could order me to fuck somebody it would be David." He's still trying out in his head the idea that this might happen. The thought that Henry wants him isn't new—he's not _that_ subtle—but it's still surprising that he wants Michael enough to actually _do_ something about it.

Henry glances at him and then back down. "I really do like you," he says. "David's not making that up. I told him. And he seemed sure that you—" He doesn't finish the sentence.

It's easy to forget just how young he is, because half the time he sounds like a professor overdue for retirement. Michael takes his glasses off, leans forward and sets them on the desk, and then slides closer to Henry on the bed. Henry's eyes are very wide, but he doesn't stop talking, a little faster than before.

"I'm not inexperienced, but like. It's usually other guys hitting on me."

It would be, with a face and an attitude like he has. "I think you're doing fine," Michael says. He lets one of his hands cover Henry's on the bed. "Is this okay?"

"Um. Yes!" Henry says. He sways toward Michael and then freezes. "Very okay. Can we—"

Michael leans in and kisses him. Henry breathes out against him like he's been holding it in and then opens his mouth, letting Michael sweep his tongue along the inside of his lower lip and deeper. He moans, not too loud. Michael presses forward and lets his other hand reach across Henry's body to grip his hip; Henry's fast breathing makes his belly brush against Michael's forearm. Michael can feel the shock of it down to his core: how responsive Henry is, how good he feels, how much Michael hasn't been letting himself feel how much he wants it.

Henry pulls back so Michael does too, blinking at him. He wonders for a moment if he's been going too fast, but then Henry brings his hands up to hem of Michael's shirt. "Can I?" he asks. As if there were any question about it. Michael puts his arms up. Henry strips the shirt off him and makes another little noise. "You are _so_ hot," he says, tracing one hand up the centre of Michael's abs. The touch makes Michael shiver.

"You too. Too many clothes, though," he says, daring, and starts to unbutton Henry's shirt.

"It's part of the look," Henry protests. Protests the teasing, not the stripping. He seems to be all in on that. Maybe Michael isn't the only one who's been wanting. (Maybe David was right. He usually is.)

"It's a good look," Michael says. He glances up and meets Henry's eyes. "You know that, though," he says, just to watch the colour flood Henry's cheeks again.

"Otherwise I look like I'm ten." Henry starts undoing his tie as Michael slowly works his way up. He can't get at skin yet, Henry's wearing a vest, but it's good anyway. Henry drapes the tie around Michael's bare shoulders and leans in to kiss under Michael's ear distractingly as Michael finishes the buttons and shoves the shirt down Henry's arms and off. He has to push Henry back to strip off the vest. Underneath he's lean and pale, with tiny pink kissable nipples, and the flush goes halfway down his chest.

Henry sees him looking and clambers into Michael's lap. Michael is more than happy to let him take the lead—bashful and enthusiastic is a wonderful combination as far as he's concerned. He gets his arms round Henry to hold him in place just as Henry bends down to start kissing him again. It's inconvenient wanting to hold a boy in your lap when he's so much taller than you. He's very warm, more muscular than Michael might have expected, and rocking his erection against Michael's out of rhythm with the kiss. Yes, Michael definitely read this wrong, Henry had been waiting for him to make the first move. It's a mistake Michael's very willing to admit to, if this is what he gets. He slides one of his hands down Henry's back to cup his arse and slow him down and Henry gasps and jerks forward against him. "Okay?" Michael says, pulling back just enough to speak, and Henry dives back in like he can't stand to be separated for even a moment. Michael urges him into a better grind and lets his other hand trace idle lines on Henry's back. Henry's arms are trapped between them, tugging on the ends of his tie to keep Michael's face close to him.

They're clearly much too vertical. Michael falls backwards, dragging Henry with him, and Henry giggles as they bounce. He's pink all the way down to his navel by now, cheeks bright red. Henry presses his hands to them, watching Henry's starry eyes, the grin that Michael knows he's matching.

"I'm really glad David brought you over," Michael says.

"He's very wise," Henry says. Michael slides his hands up to wind his fingers through Henry's hair and tug. Henry licks his lips, a soft pink flash of tongue, and then bites down on his lower lip. "You, um," he said.

Michael waits him out, tugging a little harder on one side so Henry rolls his head down into the cup of Michael's palm, catlike. 

"I'm so—nervous?" Henry says finally. "But you're not."

"What's to be nervous about?"

"What if things are awkward?"

Michael shrugs, petting Henry's hair, feeling out the faint shadow of stubble along the edge of his jaw—still too young and fine-haired to have much of anything, but it's there. "Then I'll have felt nice followed by some awkward stuff. I'd rather focus on the feeling nice bit." Henry still looks uncertain, so he adds, "And there are always awkward bits so I just think, like, it's not really awkward if you expect it to be awkward. There's a very good chance I'll need to take these jeans off soon, for example."

"Yeah, how are you, like, not crying in pain with how hard you are in those?" He's still hesitant, but there's a smirk lurking there too.

"Practice," Michael said. "But if you don't mind—"

Henry blurts out, "Oh, _please_." He practically falls off Michael's hips and curls up on his side, watching intently as Michael reaches for his flies. 

Of course, Michael then remembers another possible source of awkwardness. 

"Do your pants have _bread_ on them?" Henry asks. "Talk about awkward?"

Michael grins. "My lucky Bake Off pants, of course."

"Incredible. Why didn't you buy me a pair?"

"They were a gift," Michael says primly. He flashes Henry a grin as he pushes pants and jeans lower and Henry lets out an appreciative moan as Michael's dick springs free. Michael matches the sound with a groan of relief. He wiggles the skinny jeans slowly down his legs until he has enough loose fabric to get them all the way off. Henry is undoing buttons and zip while he watches so Michael grabs his trousers round the ankles and pulls, leaving him only in trim boxer briefs that—of course—match his shirt.

Michael kisses him on the ankle. "Do you always match your pants to your shirt?"

"Yeah, otherwise it looks weird when I walk around without any trousers on," Henry says.

Michael blinks at the mental image and Henry grins. Michael says, "I know what I want to see you wear next weekend."

"And you haven't even seen my arse in these yet," Henry says, and goes an even deeper shade of pink. 

Oh, he makes Michael want to eat him alive. "I can just imagine you bending over to put something in the oven."

Henry beckons him up with a quick motion of his hands and Michael slides towards the head of the bed until they're face-to-face. Henry tilts up to his side to kiss him. Michael tugs him closer and twines their legs together so they're pressed hip to hip, the slightly damp fabric of Henry's pants dragging deliciously against Michael's dick. 

Then Henry reaches down and palms Michael's erection. Michael rolls his hips into the touch and continues, "So you're bent over, and I see it, and I just can't help myself, so I come over and stick my face between your cheeks."

"Oh my God," Henry says. "I would pitch headfirst into the oven and die!"

"Or at least ruin your bake."

Henry cocks his head. "That's one way to win."

Michael laughs and Henry squeezes his dick. Then he rolls further on top of Michael, reaching for something on the other side of the bed. Michael feels fabric drape around the back of his neck: Henry's tie, lost somewhere along the way. He leans up so Henry can pull the other end round, and then tilts his head back against the faint pressure. "Kinky," he says approvingly.

Henry's eyes are bright. "Now I can, like, control you like a horse," he says, pulling on the tie.

Teasingly, Michael says, "Do you also ride horses, to go with the waistcoats and English lit program and organ playing and all that?"

"Not horses, no. Just—" He grins and brings one thigh up to squeeze Michael's waist.

"Saucy!" Michael says.

Henry pulls harder so Michael gives him what he wants, leaning forward for another kiss.

"I can see a flaw, though," Michael says.

"What's that?"

"You can only pull me _up_ with that." When Henry doesn't immediately react, he adds, "A lot harder to make me go _down_." Henry squeaks and Michael kisses him on the tip of his nose. "Why, did you want something?"

"Oh my God. _Please,_" Henry says, matching it with a grind of his hips.

Michael rolls them both so Henry's on his back, then starts kissing his way down Henry's belly—why rush when the journey is so nice? And when Henry's reactions make it so fun: the flushing, the noises he keeps making though he's clearly trying not to, the constant tidal motion of his hips and the twitching of his feet where they're wrapped around Michael's legs. 

He hooks his fingers in the elastic waistband of Henry's pants and lifts the fabric free of his erection, easing carefully over and down, and sitting up on his knees to finish pulling them off. Henry narrowly avoids kicking him in the face as he swings his legs around; Michael grins at his horrified reaction. "See? Awkward, but it's fine," Michael says, rubbing briskly along Henry's thighs whilst he takes a good look at Henry's dick. As pretty as the rest of him. 

Henry snakes a hand down to hold it round the base, pointing it in Michael's direction. The most aggressive he's been tonight, and definitely worth obeying.

Michael drops back down onto his belly, elbows on either side of Henry's thighs to keep him upright, and leans in to take the smooth head in his mouth. Henry's legs squeeze along Michael's sides, but he doesn't buck his hips, sweet thing, so Michael lets his lips slide down till they touch the edge of Henry's fingers. Henry swears and leaks on Michael's tongue—his responsiveness is so good; Michael had hoped he'd be like this, with how tense he is the rest of the time, but you never know for sure. Michael draws up and glances at Henry's face through his lashes but Henry isn't even looking at him, flat on his back with his other arm thrown over his face, chest heaving and sweaty and still flushed all the way down. Michael strokes his thumbs in the hollows of Henry's hips, feeling out the taut muscle and smooth skin, and lets Henry's hand do the work of holding his dick steady. Henry's polite about it, holding still, just groaning increasingly freely as Michael builds up spit and speed, sucking his dick, trying to make him come.

Suddenly, Henry's moving, sitting up, and Michael grips his hips and tries not to be thrown off until he realises Henry's grabbing for his head. "I—_Michael_," he says, sounding desperate, and Michael pulls his mouth off and wraps his fingers through Henry's as they jerk him off a few last strokes before he comes on his belly. Michael feels a surge of satisfaction at the way Henry looks and the way Michael made it happen.

Henry falls back against the bed, grinning, and Michael crawls up to grab some of the tissues he'd piled on the nightstand—for allergies rather than planned gay sex activities, which shows the limits of his imagination. He leans a hand heavy on Henry's shoulder as he goes, not wanting to lose the connection, and Henry sweetly leans his cheek against the back of Michael's hand.

"Next time, you can just say my name or something to warn me," Michael says as he wipes off Henry's stomach.

"Sorry, panicked," Henry says drowsily.

Michael tosses the tissues back and lies down next to Henry, taking himself in hand. Ugh, fuck, that feels good. Henry looks down, eyes popping open comically wide at something about the way Michael's handling himself. Michael tucks his chin down so he can watch as Henry eyes up his dick. Well, if he's up for it— "Feel free."

He lets his arm be pulled away as Henry lies down horizontally on the bed, Michael's dick in his face. He licks his lips, circles the shaft of Michael's dick with his hand, and sucks him down. 

The advantage of this position is that Michael can spend half his time watching Henry's mouth working on him and the other half of the time watching his arse. Michael reaches down to hold Henry's upper arm, liking the extra connection, and shamelessly ogles him—gosh, he really is so pretty—until he's close. "Gonna come," he says, sounding hoarser then he'd realised he would. Henry nods and goes all the way down encouragingly, which is so hot that Michael shoots off even faster than he'd planned.

Henry swallows and licks him clean, a level of filthiness that Michael hadn't expected, and then crawls back up the bed with an extremely self-satisfied expression and tucks himself into Michael's side again, nose pressed to Michael's collarbone. His feet have to be hanging off the end of the bed, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Do you want to stay over?" Michael says, stroking idly in the shallow dip of Henry's spine, up and down his back. He thinks he already knows the answer, since Henry doesn't seem inclined to move. He hopes he will. It's not _just_ sex, after all. Although it's definitely more about sex than he'd been expecting on Henry's end.

"I get first shower," Henry says. "This takes work." He gestures to himself without moving his face away from Michael's chest.

"Deal," Michael says.

Henry hugs him closer, like a teddy bear, and is silent long enough that Michael's heart rate has returned to normal before he says, "What are we going to tell David?"

Ruefully, Michael says, "He clearly already knows."

"All right, darling," Henry says, "but what if he asks for details?"

"Then he'll get them."

"Don't want him to feel left out of the Last Laddy Lad's Club."

"He has his gorgeous Bulgarian," Michael says. "So we get each other."

"Mmm, I like that." Henry yawns and snuggles in even closer.

Michael stretches out to turn off the lamp and starts working the covers out from under them—he's too cold with sweat drying on him to sleep in the open. 

On another yawn, Henry says, "Night, Michael."

"Night, love," Michael says, under cover of darkness, and wraps one arm around Henry's shoulders with a smile before he goes to sleep.


End file.
